'Tis sweet to muse o'er days gone by, Then lift to Him the adoring eye, Who stills the battle's roar, And think how soon the hand of Time Must close its page of blood and crime! Sweet hour of eve! quick to his cave And bids each beam, that wanders by, Yield me a beam, fair sun, to ascend, For all around their aid shall lend, E'en to the leafless rod ! The milk-white kine, with gentle eye, The insect of the sod, The little flies, that gleam so bright, Like earth-born stars, the live-long night, The dusky groves, the mountain's brow, Loved for their Master's sake. And list His voice from lake and hill- Lord, I am still! breathe on my soul, While gathering shades around me roll, The sun may set-if thou arise Nor snares their meshes weave- FLORENCE. AS THE MOUNTAINS ARE ROUND ABOUT JERUSALEM, SO THE LORD IS ROUND ABOUT HIS PEOPLE, FROM HENCEFORTH EVEN FOR EVER. PSALM CXXV. 2 SEE Florence, on the broad earth's breast Her deeds of vengeance done; Tho' dark and bristling yet her mane, Many her works of might-but now And Peace soothes each alarm : And trusts another arm. |